


Here, At The End Of All Things

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Death from Old Age, F/M, Old Age, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: They came from all corners to mourn the death of the King of Ferelden. Even Celene, rickety and withered, had come in from Orlais. But it did not matter. Whatever she had expected, him going first had not been it. He had followed her his whole life, after all. Why now, of all times, did he decide to lead?





	Here, At The End Of All Things

She had been inconsolable most of that day, crying herself unconscious twice. 

Kieran, frowning in sympathy, had held onto Adrain when he returned from Skyhold to . . . this. He had cried his share, held by his older brother, but if there was anything he inherited from his parents, it was the copper hair and a penchant for duty. He had dried his eyes and steadied his breathing, unable to look at the still form of his father before leaving the room to begin writing letters and making arrangements. Kieran shadowed him the whole time. 

"Oh, my sweet girl."

She looked up from the bedside to the worried frown of Morrigan. She had only recently begun to age, grey seeping into her hair a strand at a time. In the bed, his hair was white, soft like down. Her own was silver, shining in the sun like her blades. 

"You have my condolences." The witch murmured, sitting down to cradle her best friend. But there were no more tears left, for now, anyway.

* * *

Eyarin and Zevran were the first to show up, followed very closely by Leliana. All three of them hugged her as soon as they got close enough. 

"Oh, Adessa." Eyarin cooed, stroking her hair. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"If there is any good side to this, remember," Zevran said, "he stands now with the Maker, beyond all worldly stress."

She sniffed, so sore and tired from all this blubbering. "I've not felt anything like this before in my life. I did not weep when my parents were killed, I was walking around soon after I killed the Archdemon. I did not even cry out during childbirth, which you all know was not easy for me. I've stood by your sides and undergone much pain. I feel now as if I've been split apart on a blade, my heart torn from my chest, yet I live. Misery like death is in my lungs, each heartbeat coming on sufferance without him here." She dabbed at her eyes once more, fiddling with the cloth. "Tis foolish, to break like this."

"Alistair would be offended to hear it, I think." Leliana murmured, a hint of mirth in her voice. "After all, he simply basked in your affection, as one's cat in the sun. If your reaction was any less, I think he would be pouting."

She laughed despite herself. "I think you're right."

"I know I am right. Alistair is the only ruler in all Thedas who would sign off his letters with doodles."

"Did Alyrra come with you?"

"Indeed. Cullen and Lady Trevelyan send their condolences, but the Inquisition would not spare them. Alyrra is with Adrain now, speaking to your officials for him, I believe."

"Thank you, Leliana. For all the strangeness of our meeting, I'm honoured to count you as a friend."

"Not more than I." The spy kissed her hair. "I have slipped away for now, but it will not be long before I must return. I will do what I can to help along the arrangements. I will see you again before I go, I promise."

"Of course." She squeezed her hand once before she let go. "Duty first."

Leliana pet her cheek before leaving the room, her own hair misty with age and her movements getting stiff.

"What do you want us to do, Adessa?" Eyarin asked gently.

"I want one last moment alone with Alistair." She wrung her hands. "I would like you to get the coroner. I haven't the strength to remove his body myself."

"Of course. We will return in half an hour, my Queen." Zevran replied, tugging Eyarin out with him.

* * *

Denerim had been completely rebuilt since the Blight, most of the city's walls having come down and the streets paved over in flat stones. The Alienage was no longer a slum built on top of a slum, simply a section of neighbourhood with a beautiful garden. The nobles had been pushed closer together, nearer the castle with moderate manors instead of gated off mansions. The Market District was now a veritable array of well laid-out stands and shops with a public well and a library built next to the Chantry. Fort Drakon had also been retouched, though the stone was strong enough to mostly weather the assault. The implements of the torture chambers had been emptied out and burned, turning them into simply cells, weapons caches and barracks. A small section had been allotted to visiting Grey Wardens. 

It was through this proud city that the procession marched. 

As per tradition and custom, the heirs and spouses walked first. That meant Adrain was up front, leading the procession in full golden armour, his uncle's sword clasped tightly in his hands and pointing downwards. Alyrra walked next to him, in a similar fashion, but wearing a thick black cloak atop her red armour. Kieran walked a few paces behind them, clasping a silver dagger in his hands and holding it against his heart. 

Next walked the noble kin. Nobles from every house in Fereldan would follow their Prince somberly, swords sheathed, but a fist on their heart. Anora and Eamon's son, Conner, lead this part of the procession, Fergus not far behind them.

Behind them came up the foreign dignitaries. Celene was seen here, carried along by two servant men in a bier. Most of the other royal houses sent their ambassadors, but there were exceptions. Viscount Varric Tethrast made an appearance, along with King Sebastian Vale of Starkhaven and Lord Inquisitor Vestas Trevelyan, representing Ostwick. To many's surprise, there was even one from Tevinter, a Magister Dorian Pavus who walked hand-in-hand with Lord Trevelyan in quiet mourning. 

_"I'm sorry." Anora had said._

_"I owe him my life. You both saved me. The least I can do is honour his life." Conner had murmured._

_"Dear sister." Fergus had whimpered. "You helped me with Oriana. I will help you now."_

_"A good man." Was all Celene could muster._

_"I don't know either of you personally, but he was a good man." Varric had offered. "I wish there was something I could do for your loss."_

_"He was my role model for taking back Starkhaven." Sebastian had said, head bowed. "I will pray for him to reach the Maker's side safely."_

_"He was a good friend and ally of the Inquisition and of Ostwick." Vestas had bowed, polite to a fault. "We mourn his loss with you, your Grace."_

_"I admit I've not met the man, but he at your side saved the world from the Blight." Dorian had told her, honest sorrow in his gaze. "He deserves to be honoured by every land in all Thedas. Thank you for letting me attend."_

Then came the funeral bier. Held aloft by four soldiers, one to a corner, and two Wardens in the middle, It was bedded down in white and surrounded by Andraste's Grace. The warm summer wind took the scent and spread it amongst the crowd. They were woven lovingly into his hair, the colour of the petals nearly indistinguishable. He was dressed in silver plate armour, ornate and beautiful. He'd been coronated in that armour, with the sword in his hands pointing down at his feet. The only colour on him - since his skin had gone pale and cold - came from the brilliant copper circlet about his head. It was his 'unoffical' crown, the one worn at casual meetings or dinners. Once, it had vanished in his hair. She'd gotten it adorned with pretty green gems. many from Orlais confused it for a tiara, but he giggles and wore it anyway. 

Lastly, she came. 

There were no mourners, no crowd of supportive family about her. Simply she, shining silver hair tied back in a tidy bun, her silver armour forged to mimic a splash of blood up her left side. Once, it had been a very real thing. Her swords - the red one a momento of Duncan and the other her own flaming chrome - rested neatly on her back. She wore her circlet as well, also copper. Her gems, however, were glittering topaz. A cape hung from her shoulders, a deep forest green emblazoned with the standard of Ferelden across her back. It dragged behind her, as if mimicking a dress, but she cared very little. She would not have worn it at all. She was no longer this country's monarch. 

The crowds were silent as she walked past them. She was their headstrong, dragon-killing Queen who had the strength to keep the country from falling apart. She slew anything and anyone that threatened her, her family or her country. But she walked with her head bowed, hands empty and lax at her sides. She was unashamed of the open tears on her face and did not try to contain nor veil her suffering. 

In the early days, it had been easy to overlook their loving smiles and gentle touches as an act. It would make sense, after all, for the murderers of the king to be a bastard and a scheming noblewoman with a vendetta. It took years for the suspicion of her puppeteering him to disperse. But for all the time apart and politics and mortal danger, it was obvious that their love had never been anything but tried and true. After Adrain's birth . . . There was nothing so moving as a king in tears as he introduces his son, the infant gurgling as he took in this new world of his, his mother exhausted but smiling through the pain.

The Hero of Ferelden walked last, surviving even this.

* * *

"They built it to honour us, but I can't help but see it as a little garish."

Eyarin and Zevran stayed for two months. Penra and Jaris visited from Orzammar, but could not stay long. Larin remained for quite some time before she was called away by the carta and the Wardens. As promised, Leliana dropped by for one last kiss before she left with Vestas and Dorian. Alyraa followed them, but returned a few weeks later, prepared now to assist her fiance. Kieran kept casting her worried glances and shared that with Fergus, who started to watch her. 

"You would like it, however. It's twenty feet tall, you and I holding a sword, back to back, that points out over the battlefield as if daring the army to return. Cailan stands behind you and Duncan behind me, though you would probably rather it the other way around. I actually knew Cailan."

She slipped out from under them two days after Adrain's coronation, a month after the funeral. His wedding to Alyrra happened that night. She slipped on her Bloodplate armour and exited through a back passage, a note in her old bedroom - too cold and empty now - that would have to comfort Adrain.

* * *

Even with the large statue overlooking the ruins amongst the other monuments to the fallen here, the sunset over Ostagar was always lovely. She would stand at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the battlefield that was now no more than a field scattered with random shards of equipment.

She didn't know what possessed her to wear the armour. She intent in coming to Ostagar had not been to  _live_. But she supposed, she would have been very disappointed She needed to be here, for this purpose. 

"I've seen you in my dreams, love." She murmurs to the wind, standing atop the Tower, where the signal fire once had burned. "I have heard your voice in the Fade, seen the brilliant colour of your hair. I am coming to you soon. I've never been good at saying no to you."

And so, the Hero of Ferelden fell.

 

 

 

 


End file.
